


Grief (Everything Counts)

by salamanderinspace



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Porn With Sadness, Rough Sex, Smut, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9152536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamanderinspace/pseuds/salamanderinspace
Summary: Starkiller is a million and one bits of bone and dust.  They leave them behind.  There are ways to cope with the impermanence of bodies.





	

Maybe it is grief. She's certainly used sex to comfort herself, before. Rey recalls needing comfort after one night, on Jakku, when nightwatchers crept into the Goazon and cut off her travel routes. She brushed death like a flint on a stone; she had been stranded, exposed, alone with the steelpeckers circling and no barium to ward off the gnaw-jaws. She'd used her staff to keep them at bay; when dawn finally broke, she was bone-weary, damp with sweat and freezing. She went straight to Niima and found some Ogem scrounger to drag into a tent and fuck. That killed the adrenaline and brought peace. There are ways to cope with the impermanence of bodies.

She can probably think of a dozen other times. In fact, she can think of exactly a dozen, because she's kept chronicle of each experience in the form of tally-marks on a rusted old slug-pipe. A scavenger keeps careful inventory of her collections. At the age of 19, Rey is collecting men; after losing her virginity to a scrapper her age, she'd started seeking the company of more and many partners. There were tourists at the Outpost, there were wisemen in the Sacred Villages. She'd been more inclined to scratch an itch than to find someone for connection. Tonight is a special circumstance, though. Because again. The grief.

In the reflection on the dark duraglass she can see the cockpit of the Falcon, in entirety. She feels oddly safe here. It reminds her of her AT-AT; she owned both these spaces from the moment she entered them. She still feels in control of the Falcon, even though she is sharing the ship (and in fact, the copilot's seat) with a new friend. The Wookie named Chewbacca is also grieving, having just lost his lifelong co-captain in the strike on Starkiller Base. Rey has invited Chewie--convinced him, really--to forget his pain in the most intimate way possible. They both need something quick and rough and senseless.

Despite her "collection," Rey has never been with a Wookie before. She takes a few moments to fondle his muzzle, touching the tips of her fingers to nose, tongue, lips, and running her hands through his hair. Then she hastily pushes down her leggings, faces the window, and seats herself in his lap.

His hands are around her waist. That is the best part of it, really. He squeezes at her, pawing one hand up over her breast, keeping the other tight on her hip to guide her strokes. There is something insistent about the way he holds on. Like, "yes, yes, you don't get to leave me, now."

Rey savors the feel of fur against her bare thighs. It makes everything smoother and softer and only when she really puts pressure against him can she feel the change in density where hair ends and body begins. He is warm with body heat and smells like herbs and machine-oil. She doesn't bother to look down before he impales her. She knows he'll be large, and he is; she feels stuffed and stretched in a way that is stimulating, but not too painful. Maybe not painful enough. Gripping tight to the armrests, she moves her hips in long, slow circles. At first, her gratification derives purely from friction, but then she begins to count the cycles of motion. Twenty-eight...twenty...nine...her body is slick and burning as she struggles to keep tally on the back of her mind. Thirty-one...thirty-two...she counts the strokes til they blur together. This wants focus. She lets her weight slam down, through her thighs, bouncing her body with the shock of constant, frenzied movement. There will be bruises. When sweat stings her eyes, Rey decides to speed the process; she reaches down to rub herself until she comes. She screams too long and too shapelessly. But it is a scream. It is not a wail.

Rey is cautious when she crouches forward. Everything feels uncomfortably swollen now, and sensitive. "Are you...?" she pants, unable to say more. She doesn't have to ask. He is still erect, three or four inches pushed into her. Sliding off, she examines Chewbacca's cock and determines that, while he'd certainly run her through, there was quite a bit more to run with. "Oh. You probably need more, yeah?"

He nods. He pushes a strand of her hair from hair face and makes a bold request.

"I don't think it'd fit," Rey confesses. "But I can use my hands? And my mouth." She wonders how old the Wookie is, especially in regard to how many other hands and mouths he's had on him. She could ask. Or, she realizes almost painfully, she could read his mind with the Force. 

The last thing she wants is to trade stories. She drops to her knees, wasting no time on tentative kisses or subtle nips. Wrapping both fists around the thickness, Rey cups the tip in her mouth and begins to suck. It feels good; white noise fills her mind like a sandstorm. She focuses on every twitch and pulse, the throb and rub against her lips firing through her nerves like a perfect kiss. Then she has to unhinge her jaw, a little, to swallow the length. There is a paw on the back of her head, pushing, and hair in her eyes, and a pleasent partial-gag. Rey smiles. She longs to go further, deeper, to choke, but instead she pulls back and then goes down again. She twists her hands in a deft caress; Chewbacca goes still. He's a quiet lover but Rey is determined to hear purrs and growls. When he lets out a low, woolly moan, Rey hums a noise of approval and knows he can feel her murmuring. 

There is no warning when the Wookie finishes. What an absurd thing, Rey thinks, to be swallowing this stranger's come. She likes it, though, and the look on his face says he likes it too. When her mouth is finally clear, she gasps up at him, just to be sure: "good?" He nods, eyes glinting at her. She feels no need to interrogate him further.

Spitting on the floor, Rey wipes her face on her woollen vest. "Thanks," she says, and she pulls up her leggings. "I think we'll be landing soon." 

"I can wait in the ship," he trills. "Call me if you need anything?"

Rey nods. She returns to her seat and pulls them out of hyperspace. This planet is fourth in her collection of planets; fifth, if Starkiller is to be counted. Rey suspects it should be counted.


End file.
